Friendzoned
by xSuchSweetNothingx
Summary: Edward called Bella asking her to help him plan the date for the girl of his dreams. Oh, she'll help him alright. Teens / High School. Very Cliche. Terrible, if I'm Being Honest. I Promise to Never Update This. Rated T. Edward x Bella.


**Friendzoned**

* * *

"Bella, I need your help. I finally got a date with the girl of my dreams, and I need you to help me make it perfect."

A good person would be happy for their best friend when they say this.

A good person would be more than willing to help their best friend get the girl of his dreams.

A good person would have been proud of their best friend that he wanted to make the date perfect for this special girl.

Unfortunately, I'm not a good person.

Because when Edward called me last night and said this to me, though I did agree to help him . . . I was furious.

How _dare_ he?

How _dare_ the man of _my_ dreams want someone else?

How _dare_ he suggest that I _help_ him find someone other than _me_ to be with?

I hate him. I hate the bastard.

What kind of person goes around making their best friend fall in love with them, only to not return the feeling?

What kind of person rubs their love for another, a love that had never even been _mentioned_ before, in the face of the person who is in love with them?

What kind of person refers to a girl as the girl of her dreams when _speaking_to the girl that refers to _him_ as the _man_ of her dreams?

A bad person. That's who.

Because of this I have decided that it is okay for me to be a bad person.

That it makes sense.

Just this one time.

Now, I'm not going to kill him. I'm not going to hurt him. I'm not going to get in a fight with him.

I'm just going to ruin his date.

* * *

"Okay so what time is the date?" I ask Edward, sitting at the island counter while he pours me a glass of iced tea.

"Seven," he answers, handing me the glass. "I should probably get going soon."

I search my mind for something that I can do to ruin his date.

He's already made reservations, so I can't convince him to take the girl to McDonald's.

I would have loved to see her face.

"Aren't you going to get changed?" I ask, crinkling my nose in mock disgust.

He looks perfect as he is, clad in dark wash jeans and a grey sweater. It's unfair, really. But if she sees him like this . . . there are too many terrible possibilities.

He has to look awful.

"I wasn't going to – why? Should I?" he asks, looking down at his body self-consciously.

I nod my head.

Who am I kidding? He'd be flawless in a garbage bag.

When he disappears into his bedroom, I make my move.

He can't go on the date if he doesn't have a car. And while I can't hide his car . . . I can hide his keys.

They're sitting on the counter, and just as I pick them up, causing a loud clanking of keys he speaks.

I freeze.

"Should I wear the leather jacket?"

Ugh. I love him in the leather jacket. Why not? It's not like he's going anywhere. "Definitely!"

I don't move until I hear the door close again, and once it does I shove them in my back pocket.

He's going to see a huge bulge on my butt, and at least a few of the four hundred keys on the ring sticking out, and then I'm going to have to explain why I took his keys.

Should I stick them in my shirt?

No, they could fall. And then I'd have to explain.

_What am I supposed to do with them, _I think and as I do, it hits me. _The junk drawer._

I don't even think he realizes that he has one, but he does. He throws everything from gum wrappers to dirty socks in there. He would never think to look in that drawer.

By the time he comes back out, looking even better than Michael Angelo's David, I'm sitting inconspicuously at the island counter.

"This good?" he asked, arms outstretched.

"Yeah, you look great. You should get going, now," I urge him, moving my hands in a shooing motion. "Have fun."

He walks over to the counter where he'd left his keys. Then he goes back into his room to check his last pair of pants. When he comes back out he asks, "Have you seen my keys?"

I wasn't counting on him asking me that.

Why didn't I plan on him asking me that?

I'm the worst liar ever.

He's going to see right through me.

"Uh . . . no," I say, scrunching my eyebrows together to show that I have no idea what he's talking about.

"Bella."

He saw through me.

_Crap._

"They may or may not be in hiding right now."

"Where might they be hiding?" he inquires, resting his hand on the counter in front of me, eyebrows raised.

_Ugh._

"I don't know."

"Bella."

I stay silent.

"Bella, what did you do with my keys?"

Silence.

"You _can't go on a date with her!_"

What did he just say?

"What do you mean?" he asks.

What do _I_ mean? He's the one who said it.

Wait . . . no he's not. I am. I just said that.

_Double crap._

"Look, Edward. I've liked you for a long time," I whisper, trying to hide behind my hair, "And I don't want you to go on a date with anyone else."

"Bella," he breathes.

I can't look at him – it's too embarrassing.

"Bella, please look at me."

I do.

"This date was never for anyone else," he says.

What?

"I made the reservation for you and I."

_What?_

"I was going to take you out tonight."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You're not lying?"

"Not at all," he assures.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you're sure?"

"Yes, Bella; could you please just tell me if –"

His phrase is cut off as I tackle him, screaming, "Yes. _Yes._ YES!"

* * *

_**A/N: **Yes, I am aware of how terrible this is._

_I just couldn't help myself - I had to post it._

_I've been laughing at it since I wrote it._

_XD _

_A prime example of why **not** to write when you have writers block._

* * *

**Harlow**


End file.
